The Raven and the Rose

by Doreen Owens Malek

  “I see that your erstwhile admirer is here,” Septimus murmured to him dryly. “She must imagine that you are pining away to see her with that foreigner. I understand he paves the walkways of his garden with sesterces.”

  Marcus shot him a withering glance.

  “Help yourselves to the refreshments,” Larthia said, gesturing to the slaves walking through the reception carrying trays loaded with golden goblets, as well as sausages, honey cakes, and bits of salted carp. “I must see to my hostessing duties. The guest of honor is holding court in the tablinum.” Then she went on in a louder voice, “Senator Trajan, how kind of you to come.” She released Marcus and walked over to the man she had just greeted, still limping slightly, leaving Marcus and Septimus on their own.

  “I don’t know about you,” Septimus said, “but I need a drink.” He lifted a goblet from a tray as a slave went past and took a long swallow of the wine. “Look at this group. If a fire broke out here tonight Caesar wouldn’t have to fight to be top dog. He’d be the only contender left alive.”

  Marcus smiled grimly, sorely tempted to go looking for Julia himself, but he knew that would be rash. The house was very large and he couldn’t run around trying doors until he found the right one. He would just have to be patient until Larthia returned and showed him the way.

  “There’s your girlfriend’s grandfather, Decimus Gnaeus Casca,” Septimus said, nodding in the direction of a white haired Senator wearing a chalk bleached toga with broad bands of purple and gold, indicating his former status as a praetor, or judge. “What an old scoundrel he is. It seems to me the sister we just saw must be more like him than your precious Julia.”

  “Have you known him long?” Marcus asked, watching Casca curiously.

  “All my life. He was praetor when my father sued the corn factors for holding back their supply until the price went up. Now that my father is an aedile he consults with Casca frequently about town planning.”

  “While the esteemed Senator Gracchus keeps well in with Caesar at the same time,” Marcus replied, laughing.

  “Of course,” Septimus replied, grinning back at him. “Well, I suppose we had better go and pay our respects to Livia. Where is the tablinum in this mausoleum?”

  “I imagine where the line is forming,” Marcus replied, wondering how he could possibly be polite to the Chief Vestal while anticipating a tryst with one of her charges. The thought that Julia was under the same roof with him, but inaccessible at the moment, was driving him wild.

  “Let’s go and get it done,” Septimus said.

  They moved through the crowd, dodging servants and guests alike, then joined the line waiting to see Livia Versalia. A convivium was more like a cocktail reception than a banquet; guests remained standing and talked with one another while helping themselves to food and drink rather than reclining during a meal. Septimus entertained Marcus with acid comments about many of the partygoers as they moved closer to their destination.

  Livia Versalia, seated in an ivory chair, wearing her gilt edged saffron robes and the laurel wreath of theVestalis Maxima, was receiving congratulations on the anniversary of her investiture as Chief Vestal. At her feet was the pile of offerings brought by the guests in hopes that she would intercede for them with the goddess.

  “Septimus Valerius Gracchus,” she said, offering her hand to Septimus as he reached her.

  “I am honored to give greetings to the amatae vestae, the beloved of Vesta,” Septimus said, holding the woman’s hand to his forehead.

  “Thank you,” Livia said graciously.

  “Food for the sacrifice,” Septimus added, placing a bundle of salt cakes wrapped in leaves of the date palm at her feet.

  Livia bowed her head.

  “And Marcus Corvus Demeter,” she said, when Septimus stepped aside and she saw Marcus.

  “Greetings, Lady.”

  “It is pleasant to see you again so soon after your visit to the Aedes with Caesar.”

  “I am here in place of the Imperator, who sends his greetings and this token of his esteem.” Marcus handed her a gilt framed concave mirror and said, “From the prytaneum of the Greeks, to rekindle the Vestal fire in the new year.”

  Livia smiled. “Our Caesar knows his ancient history,” she said, turning the artifact over in her hands.

  “He is well versed in many things,” Marcus said.

  She nodded. “True. Please tell him for me that he was missed here this evening, but that his handsome and gracious representative was well received.”

  Marcus bowed and withdrew.

  “Another admirer of the raven to add to the fold,” Septimus said, sighing deeply. “I do believe that we’ll have to form a guild for you.”

  Marcus scanned the gathering for Larthia but was unable to see her.

  “Will you stop looking through the crowd like a Persian policeman searching for a suspect?” Septimus said wearily. “Our hostess said she would be back. Until she arrives your object should be to blend into the scene; your basilisk stare is as obvious as a Vestal at an orgy.”

  Marcus ignored him, continuing to peer into the distance with the acute visual perception he had developed on night watch in the army. Suddenly he froze and narrowed his eyes.

  “What is it?” Septimus asked, following the direction of his gaze.

  “Do you see that man standing by the statue of Venus with his arms folded? The one wearing the homespun tunic?”

  “How could I miss him? He’s the biggest thing in the room,” Septimus said.

  “I know him.”

  “Know him? He’s a slave, a Gaul by the look of him,” Septimus replied in a bored tone.

  “Yes. What I’d like to know is what he’s doing here. The last time I saw him I turned him in as the escaped prisoner who had killed Antoninus Mellius. He was condemned to death for it.”

  “Antoninus?” Septimus said, interested now. “He’s the one who killed Antoninus?”

  Marcus was already moving toward his target when Larthia sidled up to him and took his arm, saying, “You may come with me now. The guests are all well into their cups, I doubt that you will be missed.”

  Marcus stopped, still glaring at Verrix, who was watching Larthia, his expression unreadable.

  “What is that man doing in your house?” Marcus demanded of his hostess.

  “I beg your pardon?” she said loftily, her eyes widening at his rudeness.

  “I turned that slave in to the authorities for killing a Roman soldier in the course of an escape. The tribunal gave him the death penalty, and now I see him, free as air, lounging around this party like a male courtesan! I demand an explanation.”

  “He’s not lounging, he’s on duty. He’s my bodyguard.” Larthia attempted, futilely, to steer Marcus out of the crowd. She had dismissed as inconsequential the references Verrix made to the centurion who identified him when he was captured. Now she realized with a sinking heart that Julia’s inamorata was the same centurion who had recognized Verrix from the Gallic campaign! This was a dire complication she had not anticipated. Worried that Marcus would make a scene, she tugged on his arm, but his feet were planted.

  “Your bodyguard! This is an outrage. That man is responsible for the death of a Roman soldier, a good friend of mine. Did you know his history when he came here?”

  “Lower your voice,” Septimus said to Marcus in an advisory tone, looking around him apprehensively. “You are beginning to attract attention.”

  “My grandfather paid his death price and presented him to me for my protection,” Larthia said hastily.

  Marcus looked down at her, and she saw the face he showed to Rome’s enemies. His eyes were compassionless.

  “Is it not the duty of a Roman soldier to escape when captured?” Larthia said desperately, echoing the argument her grandfather had made to her. “He merely did exactly what you would have done in his place.”

  She saw that he was unmoved; only his reluctance to shove her out of the way was holding him where he was.


  “It will not help your cause with my sister if you make a scene in my house on the occasion of Livia Versalia’s anniversary,” Larthia said through a false smile, waving to Endymion, her portrait painter, as he passed with a goblet in his hand. “She is waiting to see you right now. Who is more important to you, Julia or a runaway slave who managed to elude crucifixion? You decide.”

  Marcus looked once more at Verrix, then down at Larthia. “Take me to Julia,” he said.

  Releasing her breath audibly, Larthia glanced at Septimus in relief and took Marcus by his elbow.

  “A sensible decision,” she said, nodding amiably at her guests as she steered him through the crowd. “Now as far as anyone can tell we are just going for a stroll through the gardens. Please at least try to look as if you are enjoying yourself, my reputation as a dazzling hostess is at stake.”

  Marcus complied, smiling down at her.

  “That’s better,” she said softly, leading him through a labyrinth of marble floored, torchlit halls and then out to the gardens, which were even more elaborate and extensive than those belonging to her neighbor, Senator Gracchus. From this distance the party chatter was a subdued murmur, the clatter of slaves in the kitchen nearby a louder counterpoint to the voices and laughter coming from the interior of the house.

  “Julia is in there,” Larthia said, pointing to small door facing out to the portico. “My husband, on those rare occasions when he was actually at home, liked to sit out here and then retire to his chamber without walking through the rest of the house. The door opens to my bedroom.”

  Marcus started toward it immediately.

  Larthia put her hand on his arm.

  “Your life is taking a dangerous turn, centurion,” she said quietly.

  “Yours too,” he replied. “Why are you helping us?”

  Larthia was silent a moment, looking back toward the house, bright with torchlight, the windows along the back open to the night air.

  “I have asked myself that same question,” she finally said. “Am I restless and bored, participating in this intrigue because my own life is so colorless? While that is certainly true, I think there is more to it.”

  Marcus waited politely, impatient for Julia, but mindful that the young woman before him had made his meeting with the Vestal possible.

  “I was fifteen when Julia was dedicated to the Vestals, old enough to know what she would be giving up when she entered the service and what her future life would be like. Julia was ten, the sweetest and most innocent child you ever saw. Perhaps I didn’t do enough to stop it.”

  “What could you have done?”

  “I was affianced to Sejanus at that time, he was a powerful man. If I had interceded with him then, before we were married and he quickly grew tired of me, I might have been able to help her. But I was too afraid of my family, of my father and grandfather. I hesitated, and Julia was swallowed up by the temple before she knew what had happened to her. The honor her investiture brought to the Casca family was much more important to my relatives than the bleak fate of one small child.”

  Marcus said nothing.

  “I have thought upon it many times since then,” Larthia added softly. She looked back at Marcus. “Be good to her,” she said. “She wants you very much. Make sure her time with you is worth the risk she is taking.”

  Marcus pressed her hand and then walked swiftly across the portico, heading for the door Larthia had indicated

  Larthia watched him go and then went back inside the house to her guests.

  Julia was standing near Larthia’s bed when the door opened. She looked up, saw Marcus, and flew into his arms.

  Marcus held her for a long moment, his throat closing with tenderness, savoring the sensation of her slim body pressed to his. Even through the voluminous Vestal robes he could feel the warmth and softness of her skin, the silken fall of her hair against his arm through her diaphanous veil. At length he held her off and drew the veil down to her shoulders, sinking his fingers into the thick red gold mass of her hair.

  “Have you been waiting long?” he said huskily.

  “It seemed long,” she replied, her wide eyes searching his face.

  “I had to wait for your sister to bring me in,” Marcus said apologetically.

  Julia smiled and held his hand to her cheek. “I can’t believe you’re here,” she said softly.

  “Julia, did you think I might not come?” he asked her incredulously.

  “I didn’t know what to think. Sometimes, while I waited for this night, it seemed I had dreamed our meeting by the spring, that I wanted it so much I’d imagined it.”

  “I’m no phantom,” he said, taking her hands and leading her to Larthia’s bed. They sat on its edge and faced one another.

  “When Larthia brought me in here she told me that my life was taking a dangerous turn,” Marcus said, twining Julia’s fingers with his.

  “But I’m a soldier and my life has been full of dangers. Facing them is my trade.” He looked down at their joined hands and then up into her face. “Your life has been very different. I wonder if you’ve considered what continuing to see me will mean.”

  “I’ve considered it,” Julia replied.

  He hesitated, aware that he wasn’t making himself clear. “Julia, so far we’ve done nothing more than talk. You can walk away from me now and have no worries about your future.”

  “But I can’t walk away from you, Marcus,” she replied, saying his name for the first time. “I knew that in the recording room of the Aedes the day we met.”

  He pulled her into his arms again. “Then we have to make plans,” he said against her ear. “Will your sister allow us to continue to meet here?”

  “Yes,” Julia whispered.

  “How?”

  Julia drew back and looked at him. “I feigned illness tonight not only to enable me to retire from the party but to set up a reason to meet with Larthia’s physician in the future.”

  “Why?”

  “I can tell Livia Versalia that I must come here on each nundina to receive his ministrations. The doctor lives just across the Via Sacra but it would not be seemly for me to go to his home for treatment. Livia will accept my meeting with him here.”

  “Wouldn’t she expect him to come to the Atrium Vestae to see you?”

  “Males other than relatives are not permitted intimate contact with a Vestal within the temple or the atrium. We must always go out to see physicians.”

  “And how will you keep the doctor quiet?” Marcus asked, concerned.

  “I plan to see him as a patient,” Julia said reasonably. “He is greedy enough to be well paid every eight days for treating imaginary ailments. I will work hard to be a convincing actress.” She smiled and put her head on Marcus’ shoulder. “And when he leaves, I will then see you.”

  Marcus chuckled. “Brilliant as well as beautiful.”

  “It was Larthia’s idea.”

  “The words apply to your sister as well.”

  “She is taking a big chance for us,” Julia said.

  “It’s my guess that Larthia could take on the Persian horde and come out the winner,” Marcus said dryly.

  Julia giggled.

  “How will I wait for another market day before seeing you again?” Marcus asked, nuzzling her hair.

  “I know it’s a long time, but I didn’t want to risk sending messages back and forth to set up meetings,” Julia whispered. “This way, you’ll always know when you’ll see me.”

  “It will never be often enough,” Marcus said, bending his head to kiss her.

  Julia accepted the pressure of his mouth on hers, her lips parting slightly, then clutched his shoulders as he drew her closer and embraced her more fully. His mouth was moving caressingly from her lips to her neck when the door to the hall opened and Larthia burst into the room.

  “Out!” she said breathlessly to Marcus. “Livia Versalia is on her way in here right now to check on Julia. Go out the door to the portico!”


  Marcus leaped to his feet, releasing Julia so suddenly that she fell back on the bed.

  “Next market day, at sunset,” Julia said, clutching desperately at his hand.

  “For pity’s sake, Julia, let him go!” Larthia hissed. “She must be almost here!”

  Julia drew back and Marcus fled across the room and out the door. It had just closed behind him when Livia tapped softly on the door leading to the hall.

  “Julia Rosalba?” she called. “May I come in?”

  Larthia waved Julia into a prone position on the bed and waited until her sister had arranged her clothing. Then she pulled the door open and greeted Livia with a wide smile.

  “Well, the guest of honor! I think my sister is feeling better, Livia, the rest must have done her good.”

  Livia advanced into the room, the hem of her gown whispering along the marble tiled floor. She walked to the side of the bed and studied the prone figure of the younger woman lying there.

  “I don’t know, Larthia, she looks flushed to me. Don’t you think she looks flushed?”

  Larthia, who knew very well why Julia’s cheeks were rosy, said hastily, “Perhaps she has a touch of fever.”

  Livia seemed concerned. “The Pontine Marshes are a terrible source of contagion this time of year.”

  “You could send her to see my physician, Paris, he’s very good. She could meet with him here at my house. Would you like me to arrange it?”

  Livia nodded, putting the back of her hand to Julia’s forehead. “Yes, I would. Thank you, Lady Sejana.”

  Larthia winked at Julia behind Livia’s back.

  “I take the welfare of my ladies very seriously,” Livia said briskly. “Julia Rosalba, spend the remainder of the evening resting and I excuse you from your duties tomorrow. And we will arrange for you to see the Greek healer as soon as possible. I’ll send a litter for you tonight so you won’t have to go back to the Atrium with us in the currus.”

  “Thank you, Livia,” Julia said from the bed.

  “Now we must rejoin the party,” Larthia said to Livia, putting her hand on the Chief Vestal’s shoulder and directing her toward the door. “I’m sure the guests will want to say good night to you before they go home.”